“Well, will you”—she mimics my tone—"‘indulge my questions soon,’ my king?”

I glare. “Careful.”

She swallows.

Taking my narrowed eyes as seriously as they are intended, she climbs to her feet and slowly lifts her dress over her head, exposing slim white legs, white knickers with a clear wet core, a smooth, supple belly that nurtures my heir, and naked sweet, pert tits.

“No brassieres? Why?”

Blush rushes up her neck under my scrutiny, her arms wrapping around her chest, covering the perky mounds. “I know. They are small. I don’t always wear one. They will get bigger, my king. In the coming months.”

“Are you apologising for something?” I suffocate another growl that lurks in my chest; it will only intimidate her further. Dammit, I am in physical pain over how hard I am, yet she’s trembling with insecurities.

Glaring at her, unable to mask the disapproval, I unbutton my pants and drag my cock out, fisting it, squeezing it until the head swells and reddens. “Climb onto your king’s lap. Now. And slide along my cock. Let me feel your heartbeat between your thighs.”

I wrench my shirt over my head, push my pants down and widen my legs, my cock jutting out, bouncing and leaking.

Her mouth parts, her eyes roaming my chest and abdomen. “You’re so hard, my king. And… so many scars.”

A whisper of sorrow glosses her eyes as if she wants to kiss each one and take the pain away.

You can’t, sweet creature.

With her legs wide, she climbs over my thighs and hovers, unsure what to do with me.

I chuckle deep.

Pressing my weight into the backrest, it declines slightly. She is too fucking nervous, so I reach out, possess her throat with a growl and drag her lips to meet mine. I devour her mouth. Eat it. Holding her neck with one hand, I position her backside with the other. Setting her on my long, throbbing cock, I pin it between my abdominals and her delta. I work her along the shaft, feel her pussy lips open and show her what she needs to do all by herself when I let go.

“That’s my good girl.”

I loosen my hold but leave my palm resting on her fragile spine and my other as a collar around her neck.

Her lips fumble in confusion on mine—whimpers, moans, and cries all mingle together while she tries to return my hard kiss.

Her heart pulses in her heat as she rides me, rocking her hips backward, her pussy lips hugging the root before sliding up to the swelling crown.

I rest my head, stare, and feel her.

Let her play on me. Perfect. Her. Vulnerable, sweet, and unknowingly seductive; her tits jiggle, nipples flushing; her mouth hangs open, lips red and pouty, draining the thick air; her hands flex on my chest for control.

But she has none.

None at all.

Watching this tiny naked human working the pleasure from her core, bringing it to the surface, is my new preferred activity.

My balls tighten, ready to explode, but I withhold my insatiable need to come. Instead, I enjoy this. I watch her pussy glazing my shaft. Hear her moans building, pitching higher.

When my cock throbs under her, pounding for more weight, her body loses rhythm. She is so close to crumbling, so close I can almost taste it.

She shakes her head over and over. “I can’t—” Her chest heaves. “Cannot do it on my own.”

I smirk and lean forward to capture her nipple between my teeth. Roll the bead. Suck hard enough to revel in the metallic essence of her bruising skin.

Then I fully band her hips with my hands and get myself off using her body to lather along the entire length of my cock, unrelentingly even as violent whimpers sound from her pouty lips and convulsions whip through her body.

I draw her orgasm out, long, hard, unyielding, keeping the pace she is unable to master herself. Feeling her orgasm, tasting blood from her plush nipple, I growl from the dark chasm in my chest in unison with her pitched cries, painting cum across my abdomen and hers.

Breathing hard, I praise her.

“That was beautiful.”

I feed my hands between her hair and her neck, holding her up as she fights her fatigue. “You can let go now,” I say, standing with her and taking her to my bed.

“But what about my questions?” She yawns. “I had questions. Important ones about…” Her lashes flutter as she thinks. “It is only just last-light. I can stay”—yawn— “up.”

Fuck me, she is pretty. Her voice, her scent, her sweet body in my arms, so lax, so mine. “I will be here with you in the first-light for all your interrogations,” I offer.

She giggles. “Interrogations.”

I frown at the jumpy soft cadence of her childlike laugh, hating how much I love it. It is one thing to accept humanity and another to welcome castration… I like my balls.

“You’ll stay?” It finally dawns on her. “We sleep together all night? Every night?”

“Always.”

I hold her to my chest, and she curls her knees to the side. Safe. Safe with me.

Like I promised her sister decades ago.

With a hand covering the back of her head, fingers laced in silky black strands, and another scooped around her hips, I rock my new Purpose to sleep.

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Chapter Four

Aster

Feeling a warm presence beneath me, I slowly bat my eyes open, and for a breath, I almost forget where I am. Then his room blinks into place, the conversations from yesterday and how ‘everything is different now’ soak into me.

His chest rises and falls, and I trace the rippling tattoos with my finger. I absorb the moment, exploring his skin, trailing my fingertip in the valley between thick muscles. Then I poke a scar to find it unyielding like lead.

“Bullets…” he murmurs, his voice sleepy— husky. “Bullet holes. The bullets are inside.”

“Pardon?”

With a deep growl that rumbles beneath me, he stretches out, his body tightening with strength and power as he wakes up. “I earned them.”

A lump swells in my throat. “That’s tragic.”

I think about the big scar on his lower lip, the one that easily shapes his resting expression into a snarl.

“And the one on your lip?” I ask.

“Odio.”

I blink fast. “Why?”

“To punish me.”

“For what exactly?”

A dark laugh leaves him, but it’s hollow, haunting. “I decapitated his previous master. He needed to show me that it mattered to him in the only way he knew how.”

Woah.

I don’t know what to say to that, but I am not entirely surprised. After all, Odio is a beast of loyalty. Of defence. Of royalty. The books say that when the eagles all die, it will mean the end of The Cradle as we know it.

“How old is Odio?” I ask.

Rome’s arms cover me, a blanket of impossible warmth and shelter. My skin prickles as he explores my naked form curled on top of him.

“He is fifty-five.” His answer is mechanical, as though he is no longer interested in the conversation, but keeps his word and allows me to ask my questions.

“How long do they live?”

“His mother lived to eighty-six. Twice the lifespan of the Wedgetailed Eagle from the old-world.”

His hands would be roaming and lazy if they weren’t so large, warm, and involuntarily firm, handling and consuming every inch of my flesh.

His nose moves into my hair, “Aster.” He inhales. “Vulnerability. Mine.”

He is trying to distract me… The sound of my name rolling along his tongue drags a moan along my tongue, but I need to focus. On… my ‘interrogations.’

I want to push off his chest, but his hands are everywhere, and I’m not sure I can.

“My king,” I start, worrying my bottom lip, “What did Iris do? What is to become of her?”